


Ice

by Alionheartedhobbit



Series: Modern Athelnar [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alionheartedhobbit/pseuds/Alionheartedhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: Imagine Person A of your OTP unexpectedly slipping on the snow/ice while going on a stroll with Person B.  Person A is embarrassed because they fell in front of their crush and got snow all over themselves but Person B just brushes off the snow and gives them a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the brilliant Wing(thorinshielding); who beta'd this for me. 
> 
> I actually wrote this months ago but it wasn't until someone mentioned the lack of modern AUs that were just Athelnar that I considered actually posting it.

“Walk with me.”

Athelstan looked up, attempting to blink away the blurriness in his tired eyes. Around him the party continued, though it was less of a party now and more of two groups of people. One playing cards and the other arguing drunkenly about some band on the opposite side of the room; the music had been shut off long ago and a lot of people had left. Athelstan had been sitting separate from either group, stretched out on the couch and staring into the fireplace. He must have dozed off at some point but now Ragnar was standing above him, arm outstretched.

“Hmm?”

“Walk with me.” Ragnar repeated, a grin stretching across his face. “I need some fresh air; a break from these clowns.”

Athelstan fought back a small smile of his own. Glancing at his watch, he shook his head and settled back onto the couch once again. “Ragnar, it is after two in the morning and it is cold.”

Ragnar’s grin turned into a smirk, his eyes taking on that glint that Athelstan knew all too well. “We won’t go far.” He lowered his voice. “Besides, I will keep you warm.”

As usual, Athelstan finds that he is unable to say no to Ragnar and takes his offered hand. Ragnar helps him to his feet and then, surprisingly, does not let go. Their hands stay linked as the older man guides the younger through the noisy house. Torstein raises his glass to them as they pass and Lagertha smirks, bringing a blush that spreads across his face and down his neck. Apparently it was too much to hope for that no one had seen that blush because Floki giggle, accidentally spilled the rest of his beer onto Torstein. The ensuing argument was enough to distract the group’s attention once again, allowing Ragnar and Athelstan to slip out into the cold without further comment.

Sometime during the night, the snow had come to an end, leaving a light blanket of cold white flakes across the ground; grass just barely peeking through.

“What are we doing out here? It’s late.” The protest was weak. If Athelstan was being honest, it was relief to be out of the house. The silence and the sting of the sharp, biting cold was a stark contrast to the constant chatter and stifling heat inside. Above them, the sky was inky black and dotted with stars that made up the constellations Athelstan had studied as a child. Studied, but could hardly ever see for himself; the bright lights of London seemed to chase the stars away. Now, London and all of its movement and its crowds were long gone, traded in by a student who wanted to study abroad and decided to stay in a county that was not his own.

The light of the moon, unobstructed by tall buildings, illuminated the night with an ethereal glow.

Ragnar stepped off the porch, finally letting go of Athelstan’s hand. Athelstan tried to ignore the disappointment that followed. “Are you saying you don’t want to walk with me?”

Athelstan rolled his eyes and shook his head, following his friend off the porch. Ragnar knew very well that this was not the case. “I don’t mind walking with you.”

“Let’s go then.”

They walked on without a word passing between them. It was comfortable, peaceful. A rabbit darted across the road only a few feet ahead of them, kicking up snow and disappearing in the brush on the opposite side of the abandoned street. A breeze stirred the branches of the trees; their moans and creaks disturbing the otherwise silent night. It was easy for Athelstan to close his eyes and pretend that everything else was fading away; the small town and its people, work, essays for school. This thought makes him pause momentarily, it was not that he felt any ill feelings towards his new home or to the work that comes with being a student and living on his own; quite the opposite in fact, but it is hard to picture anything being as important as what is right in front of him now; the snow, the stars, and Ragnar. He is so distracted by these thoughts that when the subject of them himself, Ragnar, throws an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close it is a shock to Athelstan.

“Tell me,” Ragnar began, his free arm rising and tapping a finger to the side of Athelstan’s head, “what is it that has you so lost up there?” 

“I am thinking of how happy I am here.” It is not a lie, just not the whole truth. 

Certainly though, Ragnar can hear the omission in the words he speaks, can see it on the blush that burns him. The older man doesn’t actually get a chance to say anything though because a misstep sends Athelstan to the ground. He feels his foot slide out from underneath him and then he is falling.

One minute he is standing and the next he is not. There is a pain in his lower back and snow soaks into his jeans. More damaging than either of those is the wound to his pride, because Ragnar is laughing. 

“Thank you for your heartwarming concern, Ragnar. I’m fine.” The words, though meant to be a joke, come out harsher than expected fueled by his embarrassment. 

Ragnar is still laughing even has he pulls Athelstan up. “Sorry – I’m sorry, truly.”

He crouches, brushing away the remaining snow off Athelstan’s jeans before righting himself again. There is a smile on his face and Athelstan knows that Ragnar is trying to contain his laughter to not upset his friend further; it has the opposite effect and then Englishman has to look away. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Ragnar shake his head, can hear the quiet chuckle.

“Look at me. Please.” Amusement decorates the voice but it is not unkind and Athelstan finds himself obeying.

The younger man is hit at once by how beautiful Ragnar’s eyes are; illuminated by the light of the moon reflecting on the snow, they shine. He doesn’t even realize that Ragnar is moving until he feels the touch of a callused hand against his jaw. Athelstan leans into the touch but his eyes do not leave Ragnar’s. This is uncharted territory for them; they’ve touched before, the brush of hands, hugs, an arm on the shoulder or a pat on the back. Yet this is far more intimate, fragile in its own way. 

“Athelstan.”

It’s little more than a whisper but it sends a shiver down Athelstan’s spine. His eyes drift closed, shifting forward so their foreheads are pressed together. It takes all the strength he has to remember how to breathe, and though the soft brush of Ragnar’s kiss is expected, it still sends his head spinning. For the briefest second the kiss lasts, Athelstan is certain he experiences those fireworks that you only hear about in movies.

He wanted that feeling again. 

He isn’t disappointed.


End file.
